Laughter
by Heir of Darkness
Summary: Hermione died a short time before Graduation, and Ron and Harry have drifted apart. Now Harry has decided to go back to the Burrow for the first time in five years. What kind of man will he discover in the place of the teenager he left on platform 9 3/4 ?
1. Default Chapter

Laughter one Author's note : A story about Harry and Ron's friendship. A very different take than 'Where Jealousy can lead'. Basically, Hermione died a little before Graduation, or something, I don't know … 

Disclaimer : I own nothing.   


Laughter   
By Heir of Darkness 

Chapter one 

Harry ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It had been five years since she died. Five years since she died. Five years since we graduated. Five years since we have stood on that platform, shyly avoiding the other's glare as if we were strangers, as if we hadn't know each other for the past seven years, as if we weren't the best of friends ever. It had been short and just as painful as it had been short. A simple goodbye. A see you maybe one day sometimes somewhere somehow. A goodbye we both knew was a farewell. A bind between us strained at breaking point, that just one more step toward indifference would snap forever. Would be forgotten and never hurt again. We didn't. Why ? Did we fear ? Did we keep it as a last mattress to land upon if we fell ? A wall of shame between us and happiness, to remind us of how unworthy we had been ? The wind was harsh, I remember, and the station was empty, in the early morning it was. 

And the sound of retreating footsteps as I didn't turn back. 

We drifted apart like two light ships fighting against the raging seas. 

Today I stand on your doorstep, a suitcase in my right hand and a broom in my left. I don't know if you're still here. I don't know if you still live. I don't even know if I will recognize your face when I'll meet your eyes for the first time. The house seems strangely calm, compared to the noisy Burrow it has once been. The birds are singing in the trees, their light song of spring, flowers and gentle breeze. The windows are closed. But then maybe that's because the sun has not completely risen yet, and that the trees still stand out as only dark outlines against the bluish-gray sky. Apparently most of the rooms are now inhabited. Only three are left which have about them a certain look of living. 

I hear movement upstairs. Someone is struggling to get one of the windows open. They'd better not, the morning air is still kind of cold. I recognize the room as your younger sister's. Ginny, was it ? See, after five years I still haven't forgotten. There are two arms pushing the window panes open. Her head emerges from the room, and she inhales deeply, seeming content with the simple bliss it gives. She doesn't see me. My, how thin she is. I wonder if the same has happened to you. 

More persons are moving around the house now. I stand with my back to the wall, not daring to ring, not daring to disturb that way of life you probably are snuggled into and don't want to change. Now it seems like you are the only one who isn't awake. I can hear their voices echoing across the house, talking in hushed whispers, perhaps not to rouse you from your sleep. How broken, cracked their voices seem to be. Or it must be only an effect of my imagination. 

I am now facing the doorbell, pondering on if I would pull it or not. What good would come out of it ? Reopen a barely scarred wound I knew would still bleed for the rest of our lives at the very mention of her name ? Awaken drowsing memories which are only waiting for the slightest shake to come back to life ? 

Or maybe, maybe have you forgotten, and …   
  


Author's note : To be continued … for now, review !   



	2. Chapter two

Laughter two Author's note : To answer Magical Me's question, yes, we find out how Hermione died, but not until later … 

Disclaimer : I own nothing.   


Laughter   
By Heir of Darkness 

Ginny ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I must look so stupid. 

He is standing there. Probably has been here for hours. I didn't recognize him instantly when I first saw him. He was looking at the door-bell. I know what he was thinking about when I disturbed his thoughts by opening the door. It was written all-across his face. When he looked at me, his eyes took a split of a second to focus. He had been somewhere else before coming back here. I try to smile, but it is hard when he is looking at me like that, with that feeble twitch of his lips meaning forcing a smile upon them, and those eyes that are yelling for rest and forgetfulness. I try to invite him in, but my words get stuck in my throat. I can only throw myself aside to let him pass. He took the clue. And I thank God that Ron isn't awake yet. 

I took his cloak to hang it in the closet with the other things, then only did I find enough courage to tell my parents that Harry Potter has come. I didn't dare add the 'back' at the end of the sentence. 

It is all so sudden. In the kitchen my father is wearing his bathrobe, and mum is magicing some breakfast … She used to cook well, but it really isn't worth the time and tire anymore … Magic food doesn't taste as good, but it's the easy way to go, so. 

They look up. I see the look on their face, and turn away. I don't want to. I don't want to know, to realize what they're thinking. Because I only know it too well. Because if it wasn't for their graying hair and his still coal-black one, one wouldn't have been able to tell who was older than the other. Because I know I look the same. Because I know my brother looks still worse. 

Mum tries to smile. It's hard for her, after all these years she hadn't had a good reason to. It would have been hard, for anyone who had felt such tears pouring out of their eyes. Dad doesn't even think about it. He just stares. I don't think he really knows what's happening, that he only sees that the thing we all most desired and feared has happened. Perhaps the last chance, or the drop of water which will make the glass overflow ? 

He just stands there. No one has asked him to sit down. Though I can't see his face, I can guess that he is all but smiling. I can guess the look in his eyes, those eyes which had seen the time when the Burrow laughed and bloomed all year round. His memory must be at work, the memory which still remembers Fred and George's Canary Creams, Charlie's Dragons and Percy's Head Boy Badge … Our smiles … How fast those pictures will be replaced now. 

Slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs. Our heads all converge in that one direction. By a kind of morbid curiosity, we want to know. As if we hadn't known all along. 

He's still wearing his pajamas, just like every morning God or the Devil creates. His hair is ruffled. Just as usual. Nobody in this house never cares. For I guess we've all seen too much to see anymore, our eyes are all blinded by this screen of blood and horror which will never quite fade out. 

He stops. Their eyes have met. Neither move. Frozen, both frozen into a rush of memories arisen from places they've shuffled them into, carefully, deeply, for the better forever never more again. We can all feel it. Feel the air turning cold and the wind starting to blow. Feel the sun starting to rise. Feel the ice melted a second and then turn back to ice.   
  


Author's note : Hey, I should be doing French homework, I haven't finished there's still tons to do but hey, relax … Tomorrow's Sunday … Inspire, expire … Fanfiction's a drug. I'm addicted. One day I know I'll have an overdose and die from it. ::dies already:: Review to make me come back to life so I can write another chapter.   
  



	3. Chapter three

Author's note : For those who hate "melodrama", don't even try fei Normal fei 2 4 2001-11-11T22:58:00Z 2001-11-11T22:58:00Z 3 847 4829 40 9 5930 9.2720 

Author's note : For those who hate "melodrama", don't even try. And now, see, I have given you a lot of hints in this chapter … 

And I got a flame ! Ok, so here we have STAR GURL (who can't even spell her own name but I'll just let go of it for this time) who's got a prodigy of a six years old sister. Would you mind if we asked you to show us some of her stories ? It would be really amazing to see what good a six years old can write (if she can write). Oh, and if you had looked more closely, there actually are these little signs, you know, just below my pen-name and above the text, that tell people who is thinking. And I actually will –gasp- make this story clearer as it unfolds … or are you too thick to understand what's been going on till now ? If that's the case, well, good luck, girl, and go ask your little sister for some explanations … 

Disclaimer : I own nothing. Well, really what did you expect ? 

Laughter

By Heir of Darkness

Ron ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You.

I hate you.

How did you dare come back. How did you dare come back after what you did. Why, why did you have to do that to us, not only what's done and already past, but to open the wound again by trying to heal it ? Are you even trying to heal it ? Oh, I remember. I remember well enough. The ghastly glassy look in her eyes, blindly staring into eternity forevermore, her half-open mouth, still warm with her last breath, from which flowed the thinnest thread of crimson blood, and her body, lifeless, and her hair, spread on the stone ground looking like a loose curtain, … and, you …

You, kneeling there, in your robes of black and your cloak of dark red. You, tearless, firm, standing up, shaking and yet motionless, glasses askew and wand in hand, your eyes empty and hollow and dark, lips parted, looking away from what you had done, then meeting my burning stare half way up, turning away again, your eyes dry, dry, you resting your head on the wall, sighing that breath I would have loved to extinguish, and from this moment on, I have hated you. 

I have hated you more than I could think was ever possible. I hated you even more than I hated her for what she did … to you. Everything came back to you. From you began everything. It was all because of you. And however I phrase it, it all means the same thing. I hate you, Harry Potter. As much as I would have died for you if there was the need to in the early years of our friendship, I would have died to make you suffer, from this second on when I met your eyes and saw Death lurk in them. When I understood that you were the first element which began to tear my life apart, and still the last which held it up. At that moment did I push that last column away.

Slowly I continue my descent from the stairs. You don't move. That is wise. I guess if you had attempted to speak to me at that very moment, I would have hit you. Smashed your fucking face with my fist. Your broom is of the very last model, I notice. As always, isn't it ? And, silently, everyone begins to walk around. The family sits around the table, each in their usual seats, and silently as well, an extra chair is placed here for you. Now is the time when the twins would have been welcome, to ease the atmosphere, or Charlie, always ready for a suitable remark in every situation, but no. No more twins, no more Charlie, never. The coffee is passed around the table. The toasts are there, ready, but no one touches them. 

I hold the boiling hot cup to my lips, and watch your hand, stirring the dark brown liquid, and your eyes, with dark bags under them. You have become thinner, if that is ever possible, and interiorly I smile, for in despair and pain we are all equal. But that silence. That silence that meant fear and apprehension. It needs to be broken.

"I have seen a lot of you in the newspapers."

Everyone jumps. With a cling, Ginny's spoon falls onto the floor. She mumbles a low-voiced apology, and quickly bends under the table to hide her furious blush. 

"I guess so. I don't read the news."

We eye each other. Much more than a reunion between long lost friends, this looks more like a Duel, a match to Death, when both the opponents try to spot their enemy's weak point to jump on them at the proper time. With long pauses between each joust. 

"You don't ? You should. You're an important personality. You should keep up with what people say about you …"

Our friendship is dead, Harry Potter, I don't think you've really understood that point when you came here … I don't believe in resuscitation.

You shrug. Meaning is clear. You don't give a shit.

And I curse that day when we both set foot on Platform 9 ¾ . 

The meal is now finished. The cups are all drained, but no one dares to move. The tension weighs so much it keeps us all stuck upon our seats. 

Suddenly, Mum stand up, plastering an awkward grin upon her face. 

"I see everyone is finished." Loudly, she cleans the table up. Her cheerfulness is so fake it only kills cheerfulness more. "Why don't the kids go out ? They have a lot to tell each other, don't they ?" We're twenty-three, but we're still her kids. Her hands shake and it is almost the end of one of our best porcelain plate. No one looks up, except Dad. And in his eyes are such a look as cannot be mistaken. He wonders if it is safe. Ha, don't worry, Dad. Very safe. 

I stand up, pushing my chair back. You look at me with those eyes, those eyes I have learnt to hate and despise and avoid for five years, and today that I face them again, I'm not ready to forget what they had taught me years ago. Never to trust them. I smile. And this is a genuine smile of enjoyment and savouring the moment. I extend my hands to you and Ginny.

"Come on. The woods are waking up. We need to talk, anyways."

Author's note : And then again, review … Sorry I didn't make it longer. No time today. 


	4. Chapter three

Author's note : For those who hate "melodrama", don't even try fei Normal fei 2 4 2001-11-11T22:58:00Z 2001-11-11T22:58:00Z 3 847 4829 40 9 5930 9.2720 

Author's note : For those who hate "melodrama", don't even try. And now, see, I have given you a lot of hints in this chapter … 

And I got a flame ! Ok, so here we have STAR GURL (who can't even spell her own name but I'll just let go of it for this time) who's got a prodigy of a six years old sister. Would you mind if we asked you to show us some of her stories ? It would be really amazing to see what good a six years old can write (if she can write). Oh, and if you had looked more closely, there actually are these little signs, you know, just below my pen-name and above the text, that tell people who is thinking. And I actually will –gasp- make this story clearer as it unfolds … or are you too thick to understand what's been going on till now ? If that's the case, well, good luck, girl, and go ask your little sister for some explanations … 

Disclaimer : I own nothing. Well, really what did you expect ? 

Laughter

By Heir of Darkness

Ron ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You.

I hate you.

How did you dare come back. How did you dare come back after what you did. Why, why did you have to do that to us, not only what's done and already past, but to open the wound again by trying to heal it ? Are you even trying to heal it ? Oh, I remember. I remember well enough. The ghastly glassy look in her eyes, blindly staring into eternity forevermore, her half-open mouth, still warm with her last breath, from which flowed the thinnest thread of crimson blood, and her body, lifeless, and her hair, spread on the stone ground looking like a loose curtain, … and, you …

You, kneeling there, in your robes of black and your cloak of dark red. You, tearless, firm, standing up, shaking and yet motionless, glasses askew and wand in hand, your eyes empty and hollow and dark, lips parted, looking away from what you had done, then meeting my burning stare half way up, turning away again, your eyes dry, dry, you resting your head on the wall, sighing that breath I would have loved to extinguish, and from this moment on, I have hated you. 

I have hated you more than I could think was ever possible. I hated you even more than I hated her for what she did … to you. Everything came back to you. From you began everything. It was all because of you. And however I phrase it, it all means the same thing. I hate you, Harry Potter. As much as I would have died for you if there was the need to in the early years of our friendship, I would have died to make you suffer, from this second on when I met your eyes and saw Death lurk in them. When I understood that you were the first element which began to tear my life apart, and still the last which held it up. At that moment did I push that last column away.

Slowly I continue my descent from the stairs. You don't move. That is wise. I guess if you had attempted to speak to me at that very moment, I would have hit you. Smashed your fucking face with my fist. Your broom is of the very last model, I notice. As always, isn't it ? And, silently, everyone begins to walk around. The family sits around the table, each in their usual seats, and silently as well, an extra chair is placed here for you. Now is the time when the twins would have been welcome, to ease the atmosphere, or Charlie, always ready for a suitable remark in every situation, but no. No more twins, no more Charlie, never. The coffee is passed around the table. The toasts are there, ready, but no one touches them. 

I hold the boiling hot cup to my lips, and watch your hand, stirring the dark brown liquid, and your eyes, with dark bags under them. You have become thinner, if that is ever possible, and interiorly I smile, for in despair and pain we are all equal. But that silence. That silence that meant fear and apprehension. It needs to be broken.

"I have seen a lot of you in the newspapers."

Everyone jumps. With a cling, Ginny's spoon falls onto the floor. She mumbles a low-voiced apology, and quickly bends under the table to hide her furious blush. 

"I guess so. I don't read the news."

We eye each other. Much more than a reunion between long lost friends, this looks more like a Duel, a match to Death, when both the opponents try to spot their enemy's weak point to jump on them at the proper time. With long pauses between each joust. 

"You don't ? You should. You're an important personality. You should keep up with what people say about you …"

Our friendship is dead, Harry Potter, I don't think you've really understood that point when you came here … I don't believe in resuscitation.

You shrug. Meaning is clear. You don't give a shit.

And I curse that day when we both set foot on Platform 9 ¾ . 

The meal is now finished. The cups are all drained, but no one dares to move. The tension weighs so much it keeps us all stuck upon our seats. 

Suddenly, Mum stand up, plastering an awkward grin upon her face. 

"I see everyone is finished." Loudly, she cleans the table up. Her cheerfulness is so fake it only kills cheerfulness more. "Why don't the kids go out ? They have a lot to tell each other, don't they ?" We're twenty-three, but we're still her kids. Her hands shake and it is almost the end of one of our best porcelain plate. No one looks up, except Dad. And in his eyes are such a look as cannot be mistaken. He wonders if it is safe. Ha, don't worry, Dad. Very safe. 

I stand up, pushing my chair back. You look at me with those eyes, those eyes I have learnt to hate and despise and avoid for five years, and today that I face them again, I'm not ready to forget what they had taught me years ago. Never to trust them. I smile. And this is a genuine smile of enjoyment and savouring the moment. I extend my hands to you and Ginny.

"Come on. The woods are waking up. We need to talk, anyways."

Author's note : And then again, review … Sorry I didn't make it longer. No time today. 


End file.
